“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Posey asks, walking into my bedroom.
Ever since they decided to stay in Vancouver with me, the boys have been rotating staying at my place. I prefer when Holmes is here because he doesn’t say a goddamn thing—yes, he’s taking in my every movement, but he stays silent and reads his books. Posey, on the other hand, he’s in my goddamn business every second of every day.
At one point, when I went to the bathroom, he asked what I was doing, and I told him I was relieving myself and asked if he wanted to hold my dick for me while I did that.
Right now is no exception.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask while packing a bag.
“Uh, it looks like you’re going to go somewhere, and if I were to guess, you’re going to Seattle.”
Sighing, I turn to Posey and say, “She got a job, dude. I want to congratulate her.”
Posey shakes his head. “That’s not part of the plan. It’s too soon.”
“I’m just going to say congrats, give her a hug—”
“No.” Posey rips the suitcase off the bed and throws it to the floor, scattering my things to the ground.
I point at the discarded bag. “Was that really necessary?”
“To prove a point, yes.” He approaches me. “Listen, I know you’re eager to see her, you want to congratulate her, but it’s too soon still.”
“Says who?” I ask, my patience wearing thin today.
“Do I need to FaceTime the guys?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Okay, then. Instead of driving down to see her, what can you do instead?”
“Send her something to congratulate her,” I say in an annoyed voice.
“Precisely.” Posey holds up his finger. “Remember, we’re establishing a friendship, getting to know her again, taking it slow. Build up the anticipation, the need. Patience, Lawes, we need patience.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one having to be patient.” I flop back on my bed.
“Uh, pretty sure I have blue balls for a happily ever after, here. You’re not the only one suffering. I need this to be over and done with as much as you. That’s why we need to do it right the first time and not go through this shit again. Got it?”
I give him a once-over. “Where did the attitude come from?”
He places his hands on his hips and says, “Fudge withdrawals.” Taking a deep breath, he points to my phone and says, “Start ordering something. Make it good.”
Frustrated, even though he’s right, I pick up my phone and get to work.
“FEELING GOOD?” Doc asks.
“Feeling good,” I answer as I lie on one of the training tables, icing my neck after an intense ART session.
“Glad to hear it. When the timer goes off, you’re free to leave. Take it easy today, no lifting, and try to keep off devices unless you can hold them at eye level. I don’t want you straining today.”
“Got it,” I say as he pats my table and heads to his office.
As I stare at the ceiling, I think about the upcoming season, wondering if all this therapy is going to help. Hell, I haven’t had a migraine since I started therapy, which is good. Just minor headaches here and there from irritating the muscles and moving them around, loosening them up, which is a given. But a headache is a cakewalk compared to the migraines.
My phone buzzes next to me and I lift it up to eye level to see it’s a text from Winnie.
Whenever I see her name cross my phone’s screen, I get so fucking excited, because even though it’s been painful to be patient, to wait this out, to grow this relationship like the boys have said, having these moments where she’s talking to me makes it all worth it.
Unfortunately for me, it’s just a text message. Might be best, though—don’t feel like carrying on a conversation in the training room.
Winnie: I just got a beautiful cookie bouquet delivered to the house. Max already shoved an entire cookie in his mouth. Thank you.
I really think Max and I could be good friends. We’ve chatted a bit through Instagram. He’s very openly stated that he’s rooting for me and he’ll help in any way he can. I’ve clearly taken him up on that.
Pacey: I was going to send you some cupcakes, but I asked Max. I take it this might be HIS favorite cookie place, not yours.
Winnie: Oh no, I love these cookies, but I do think Max had ulterior motives.
Pacey: As long as you love them, that’s all that matters. Did you have fun celebrating?
Winnie: I did. Katherine passed out on the couch and Max was wasted, so he pretended to ride Katherine like a horse while whipping his shirt over his head. I have damning evidence of such events that I’ll use as blackmail when I need to.
Pacey: I have a whole folder on my phone of damning evidence on the boys. It’s a smart tactic.
Winnie: Let me guess, you have the most on Silas?
Pacey: Yup. He’s the guy who does stupid shit. Posey will end up doing some idiotic things, but nothing he’s embarrassed about. Taters, on the other hand, he’s given me a lot of gold.
Winnie: I can only imagine. So, as I sit here eating one of these deliciously soft cookies, what are you doing?
Pacey: Icing my neck. Just got done with an ART session. I’m supposed to take it easy for the rest of the day.
Winnie: Are you feeling better?
Pacey: Yeah, it’s a slow process because they don’t want to stress the muscles out or anything, but I can feel a difference. Haven’t had a migraine since the one in Banff.
Winnie: That’s great news.
Pacey: Yeah. Anyway, glad you like the cookies. Enjoy, and congratulations again, Winnie. I’m really fucking proud of you.
Winnie: Thank you. That means a lot, Pacey.
Itching to do more, I set my phone down on my stomach and practice patience. This will pay off. It has to.
PACEY: What are you doing?
Holmes just left for the night, my stomach is full from the stupid-ass steak salads we had, and I’m bored.
It’s been two days since Winnie received her cookies, and with each passing minute, I’m growing more and more impatient.
I want to call her.
See her face.
Chat about everything and nothing.
Call her babe.
Hold her goddamn hand.
Kiss those perfect lips.
If anything, this time apart has solidified my feelings for her. I need her in my life. I want her in my life.
My phone buzzes, and like a rabid beast looking for his next meal, I quickly unlock my phone and read my text.
Posey: I miss fudge.
Fucking idiot. Jesus Christ. I ignore his text and set my phone down while laying my head back on the couch. Full House is on TV. It’s the serious moment when the music turns inspirational and Danny Tanner gets eye to eye with his girls and teaches them a lesson. Normally, I’d be invested in the lesson, because we all have to learn and grow—right?—but right now, I wish Danny Tanner was giving a lesson on patience instead.
My phone buzzes again and I clutch it in my palm.
If it’s Posey telling me to feed him fudge, I’m going to fucking lose it.
I quickly flash the screen in my direction, and relief floods me when I see Winnie’s name on the screen.
Winnie: Listening to Katherine review a PowerPoint she put together to tell us every reason why we need bars on all of our windows. She sees that I’m texting and she doesn’t look happy.
Pacey: I would say slowly put the phone down and pay attention, but that would mean I don’t get to talk to you.
Winnie: You want to talk to me? Anything important? I just left the room.
Pacey: In the middle of a safety presentation? Ballsy.
Winnie: I walk on the wild side. Everything okay?
Pacey: Everything is fine. Just bored out of my mind. Posey is driving me nuts. Need to talk to someone sane.
Winnie: I would hardly call me sane, but I do think I have a leg up on Levi.
Pacey: More than a leg. Since you walked out on Katherine, aren’t you afraid she’s going to hover over your bed and stare at you when you sleep?
Winnie: No, I’m used to that by now.
Pacey: LOL. Does she really do that?
Winnie: Just once, and it was the scariest thing of my life. I slapped her in the chest, which she ended up complaining about for days after.
Pacey: Why was she over your bed?
Winnie: Long story, but we’d had food delivered and she’d thought the delivery person was sketchy. She thought the food was poisoned, so she’d rotate between my room and Max’s to make sure we were still breathing. She was being a good friend, but I could’ve done without waking up to her intently staring at me.
Pacey: Pretty sure I would do worse than a slap to the chest if that happened to me.
Winnie: Karate chop, maybe?
Pacey: Nah, this boy uses fists.
Winnie: Oh, how could I forget all of the fighting in hockey?
Pacey: It’s one of the reasons hockey fans tune in.
Winnie: Was there a fight after you got injured?
Pacey: Not right after, but after I was taken off the ice and the game resumed, Hornsby crushed McAllister, the guy who did the slap shot, right into the boards. A cheap shot, and then that turned into a brawl.
Winnie: I can’t see Eli fighting. He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.
Pacey: He’s really good at not getting hit in the face. Not sure if it’s height or what, but in all the years I’ve known him, I’ve seen him with one black eye. And don’t let his easygoing attitude fool you, the man is a killer on the ice.
Winnie: I guess I’ll just have to believe it when I see it.
Pacey: Plan on watching some games this fall?
Winnie: Won’t hurt me to tune in.
Pacey: Who knows? Maybe you might find a favorite player.
Winnie: Maybe . . .
PACEY: Guess what?
Winnie: What?
Pacey: I found a four-leaf clover today.
Winnie: Send a picture.
Pacey: [picture]
Winnie: Wow, you really are good at finding them. Where are you?
Pacey: The park. Thought I’d take a walk.
Winnie: Risky since you’re often recognized.
Pacey: Needed out of the house. Feeling restless today. I’m not used to being here over summer so I needed some fresh air. Luckily, only one person recognized me.
Winnie: Well, looks like luck is on your side today.
Pacey: You think so?
Winnie: I do.
Pacey: If that’s the case, can I ask you something?
Winnie: Sure.
Pacey: Think I can FaceTime you tonight? Totally okay if you’re not cool with that. Just thought it would be nice to see your face.
Winnie: I would like that.
Pacey: Cool. I’ll call you later, then.
“YOU’RE SWEATING,” Hornsby says. He just got back from Banff and is in town for a few days. He has meetings with his agent about different sponsorships.
“Of course I’m fucking sweating.” I wipe at my brow. “I’m seeing Winnie for the first time in over a month tonight. I’m nervous.”
“What are you going to say to her?” Posey asks as he takes a bite of fudge. Hornsby spoils the guy.
“I don’t know, regular things.”
“What are regular things?” Hornsby asks.
“Like . . . how’s the job, what’s the weather like, those kinds of things.”
“Oof, that’s boring,” Posey whispers. “Good luck, man.”
I lift my eyes to him and point to my front door. “Out. Both of you.”
“Touch-y,” Hornsby says while he gathers Posey and they head to the front door. “Just remember, be cool and don’t break the patience rule.”
“Fuck your patience rule,” I say as I sit down at my dining room table and prop the phone up. My dinner is in front of me and I’m ready for a conversation. Earlier, I asked her if it was okay if I called her around dinnertime. Told her I would be eating and she’s more than welcome to eat with me.
She said that would be fun.
And that’s when the sweating began.
My front door clicks shut, I take a few deep breaths, wipe my hands on my shorts, and then I call her up on FaceTime.
Be cool, man. Be cool.
After three rings, she answers, and my heart nearly beats out of my chest when she comes into view.
Fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful.
“Hey,” she says shyly.
“Hey, you,” I say, taking her all in. Her almost platinum hair is down and straight, she has mascara on, highlighting her eyes, and she’s wearing a simple blue top that makes her eyes seem even bluer, if possible. In front of her is a plate of tacos. I’m not surprised. “Tacos?”
She nods. “I can’t help myself. What about you?”
I tip the phone down. “Salad.” I bring the phone back up. “It’s a pretty lame dinner, but the diet Doc has me on has been helping, too.”
“Are you going to be jealous watching me eat my tacos?”
Only because your tacos get to touch your mouth and I don’t.
“Very jealous,” I say.
“Well, you can live vicariously through me.” She pushes her hair back and then lifts up one of her hard-shell tacos and takes a bite. The crunch makes my mouth water. “Mmm,” she says in a teasing tone.
“Brutal,” I say while I stick my fork in my lettuce and bring it to my mouth.
“That looks appetizing.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
“It’s not.”
She laughs and, fuck, I’ve missed that sound, that smile, the way she so easily meshes with me.
“So how is the new job?” I ask her.
“Hard. It’s challenging, which is a good thing, but I feel like I’m doing a lot of studying right now, making sure I know what I’m doing. The materials are easy to understand, nothing new about creating enriching environments, but there’s more information to remember than I was expecting.”
“Ah, you know what you’re doing, but I understand the need to reaffirm that. But you’re liking it so far?”
“I am. I think it’s just enough challenge in my life, keeps me busy during the day. Not a lot of time to think.”
“Yeah? What would you be thinking about?”
She makes eye contact with me. “Just . . . you know . . . things.”
She doesn’t have to say it out loud for me to know what she’s talking about. She’s talking about me. Us. I wish I had the luxury of keeping busy, but when I’m not at therapy or lightly working out, I’m sitting at my apartment, thinking of her. Wishing I could be with her.
I pierce my fork through some lettuce and chicken. “I know what you mean. I’ve been thinking about things every day.”
She smiles softly. “Let me guess—the things you’re thinking about are what you’d take if you were stranded on an island, right?” She attempts to lighten the heavy tone and it works.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I answer. “I can’t decide between a machete and a beach towel.”
She chuckles. “Obviously the beach towel for me. I’m not a survivor, I think we know that after getting my car stuck in a ditch, so might as well lay out the beach towel and enjoy the deserted island, hoping some cabana boy stumbles over me.”
“Just like you stumbled into five hockey players?”
She points at me. “Exactly. Hey, maybe I’m the one with all the luck, not you.”
“Nah, I’ve been feeling pretty lucky,” I say, lifting my eyes so she knows I’m talking about her. When she smiles, I know I’ve been really fucking lucky, that’s for damn sure.
“HEY,” Winnie says, answering FaceTime. She’s lying on her bed, stomach against the mattress, and she has some sort of facial mask on her face.
“I like the look. Green is really your color.”
She chuckles and then “vogues” her face. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
The other day, she gave me a tour of her bedroom while we were talking. It’s subtle, sweet, and totally Winnie. The only thing missing in it is me. I wanted to tell her that, but it still felt too soon. Although, I think I’m getting closer. We’ve FaceTimed every day this week, and yesterday, we spoke twice. I can feel my hard work paying off, and that the bond we built is not only still there, but stronger than ever. This has been the right thing to do for us. We really did launch into our relationship very quickly. It felt right at the time, but this time of learning, of listening, has been so helpful.
“Beautiful,” I say, meaning it. “Why the mask, though? Your face is stunning.”
She grins. “Why, thank you, but it’s all about upkeep, Pacey. Start when you’re young is what I say.”
“Think I need some upkeep?”
She shakes her head. “Wrinkles are stupidly dignified on a man.”
My eyes widen. “You think I have wrinkles?”
She laughs, but her mouth barely opens from the restriction of her face mask. “You have laugh lines at the outer corners of your eyes. They’re sexy.”
“Sexy?” I ask. “Tell me more about that.”
She rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t need your ego getting any bigger than it is.”
“Trust me, babe, the ego is barely inflated these days.”
She slowly smiles and then looks away.
“What’s that smile for?” I ask.
She shrugs and then fiddles with her comforter. “Nothing really. You just called me babe, is all.” Her eyes flash to the screen and my pulse picks up. I’m so fucking close; I can feel it. I’m right there. I’m winning her back.
“Should I have called you fart face instead?”
“What?” She roars with laughter. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?”
I sigh. “Been hanging out with guys way too much lately. I need a feminine touch in my life.”
“Keep FaceTiming me. I’ll help you out.”
And that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.
“YOU’RE CHEATING,” Winnie says, looking at her game board.
“How am I cheating?”
She looks behind her and then back at the phone. “I don’t know. Are you in cahoots with Max or something?”
“He’s not even in your room.”
“Is there a hidden camera in here?” She looks around her room.
“You’ve been hanging out with Katherine too much. Just admit it, I’m amazing at Guess Who.”
“Never,” she says, chin held high.
I sent her Guess Who in the mail so we could play together, each having our own play sets. Every night we’ve been playing, that and Battleship. It’s simple, but fuck, it’s been the best week of my life . . . since Banff, of course.
“Does your person have glasses?”
“No,” I answer.
“Damn it.”
“Is your person Anita?”
She flips her board and says, “I hate you.”
I laugh out loud and then stretch my hands over my head. “It’s nice to congratulate your opponent.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she asks, “Oh yeah? Is that what you do when you lose? Congratulate your opponents on the ice?”
She’s got me there. “No, because the congrats I’d offer would be a fist to the gut.”
“I don’t know why I find that hot. I really shouldn’t.”
“Hot?” I ask, wiggling my brows.
Over the last week, Winnie has become more and more . . . open. I’ve clung to every word she says, every compliment, every teasing jab. It’s as though we’re back in Banff, but in fact, we’re two and a half hours apart. And that’s killing me.
“Yeah . . . hot.”
Hell.
I wet my lips and I’m about to open my mouth, when she yawns.
“Sorry.” She covers her mouth. “Been waking up early to work off all the tacos I’ve been eating. I’m exhausted.”
“You’re working out without me?”
She tilts her head to the side. “It’s not a Pacey Lawes workout. It’s just some light jogging around the neighborhood, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Sounds like fun to me.”
“Of course it does. Any physical activity sounds fun to you.” She yawns again.
“You’re tired. I’ll let you go,” I say, even though I could stay on the phone with her all night.
“Okay.” She rolls back on her bed and then curls to the side. She stares at me for a few beats and then says, “I miss you, Pacey.”
And that right there, that’s what I’ve been waiting for. That’s what all this time between us has been about, getting her to realize that I’m not the asshole who broke her heart. That I’m the guy she met in Banff, the guy who’s addicted to her, who wants to be with her, who misses her so goddamn much.
“I miss you, too, Winnie.” I give her a soft smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Good night, Pacey.”
“Good night, babe.”
We hang up and I quickly pull up my text thread with the boys.
Pacey: It’s time.
That’s all I have to say. They’ll understand. And as the texts roll in, I know from their response that they agree.
Hornsby: Fuck yes.
Taters: Jesus Christ, about time.
Posey: Goodbye, blue balls.
Holmes: Go get her, man.
